***

The knife clattered to the ground, clanging against the cement sidewalk. Sticky blood splattered Rogue’s shoes, staining black leather boots and inky green pant-legs. A cold sneer darkened her features. Hatred singed her emerald irises and anger furrowed her shapely brow. Within her, a thousand images crowded her psyche, vying for the chance to be the foremost thought in her mind.
Drawing her tongue back into her throat, she gathered a wad of saliva and spit it from her chapped lips. Spit slid down Raven’s pale flesh, her eyes sinking into her skull, losing the light that once shone from them. Blood dripped down from glistening lips, oozing along her cheek and onto the ground. The mutant’s insides had ended up on the outside, and pools and puddles of blood darkened the asphalt.

Tears fell down Rogue’s cheeks, catching in her hair as it fell over her face. Her body began to shake, and the ground rushed up like a wave to meet her. Westchester spun as if on its own personal axis, and vomit spilled forth from Rogue’s lips. Over and over again, she heaved, until nothing was left inside her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and tucked her hair back with the other.

We’ll get you all cleaned up and take you home, sweet Rogue.
Home?
Yes, my darling. We’ll take you home.
Who…who are you?
Silly girl. Such a bump on your noggin. I’m your mother, Rogue. I’m your mother.

My mother. Rogue scowled, spitting again on the closest piece of flesh she could see. Chunks of partially digested food, stomach acid, and saliva flew onto Raven’s wrist and dripped onto the ground beneath her. You’re not my mother. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she flew back to her feet, jutting her foot into the lifeless figure. Kicking over and over again, she screamed in pure rage. Her eyes clenched to slits, burning red and swollen.

She’s a threat, Rogue. She wants to kill you.
Are you sure, Mother?
Don’t question me! You know that Destiny has foreseen it! She will kill you.
I…I’m scared, Mother.
Do it! Kill her! Do it now!

Stumbling into the grass, Rogue felt hands on her shoulders. She roared, whirling around to face her attacker, prepared with an onslaught of rage. Logan held her firmly, his eyes soft and probing her, seeking out her soul through the pain that burned within her. At last, she collapsed, falling into Wolverine’s arms, body shaking maniacally.

“Easy kid, easy. I’ve got you.” He mumbled against her ear. He dropped to one knee, cradling her in his muscular forearms.

As she seized in his arms, he looked over at the mess she had created. Mystique lie on the ground, discarded as though a forgotten rag doll. Her guts had been shredded and left to disintegrate on the street. The weapon that had slain her lie near her hand, bloodied to the hilt. And her murderer quivered uncontrollably, a broken child.

***
End.